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He harrumphed. “I might remind you, young lady, that the fifth commandment reminds us to honor our father and mother.”
“Indeed it does,” she agreed, meeting his gaze innocently. “Who was it you feel did not honor you sufficiently today?”
“You, at the moment.” Another noisy clearing of the throat, and he glanced out the window, further mutterings lost behind his moustache.
“Theodosia, dear, you know it is imprudent to speak to your grandfather in such a way,” her mother remonstrated. “Why, when he has always been so very kind as to permit us to live at Stapleton—”
“Oh, stop your fussing, Letitia,” he snapped. “The girl knows I mean nothing by it.”
“Forgive me, Grandfather,” Theo said, ruefully aware of her quick tongue.
“Saucy puss,” he muttered, but not before she glimpsed his smile, and knew herself forgiven.
The carriage grew quiet and Theo caught Becky’s look of alarm. Poor dear. She was still learning the ways of the general and the dynamics of their household.
Theo patted Becky’s arm. “After luncheon, it might be of benefit to have some quiet rest and reflection.”
“Indeed it would,” her grandfather growled.
Theo mouthed an “I’m sorry” to her mother and refrained from more conversation. Perhaps, if this rain let up, a moment of quiet reflection could be followed by a walk. Such activity could help bring appreciation of the countryside, with its offerings of spring, as well as help clear this restlessness induced by the conversation of the squire’s wife and son. Yes. A walk might prove the very thing.
Daniel’s plan to arrive by Sunday had been thwarted by an obstreperous carriage wheel. Given the lack of the cheering light of a house, and his disinclination to send the coachman to search for one in the wet and dark, Daniel had spent a long and cold night huddled inside the broken vehicle, wearing as many of his clothes as could be found. He and the driver made the best of it, having a picnic of sorts with the leftovers Sarah Langley had insisted he take for the journey. He’d demurred at first, but as the rain pattered on the roof and the wind rocked the unstable carriage, he’d been extremely thankful for the generosity that supplied their meagre evening meal.
The following rain-soaked morning had revealed a glimpse of a nearby farmhouse, which Daniel visited, and though he’d had no wish to disturb their Sabbath rest, had found shelter and strong backs which insisted on attending to the wheel. It proved to be much later on Monday morning when he finally made his way into Wooler and stopped at the small inn, whereupon he ordered a hearty meal for the coachman and himself.
A blessedly hot meal and cold drink later, he made enquiries about the hiring of a gig, paid off the coachman, and transferred his luggage to the gig. He hadn’t brought an excess—the life of a soldier demanded that he not own an excess of anything. And this visit would hopefully prove of short duration, enough time to see Clara and her daughter, and determine if he could do anything for them before he returned south and resumed his armed-forces career.
A slap of the reins and he began to follow the road past the village shops to Mannering, if his memory served, when a window display snagged his attention. Perhaps … yes, perhaps that would be best. He stopped and tied up the horse outside the small shop he’d spied. Last time he’d visited, he couldn’t help but notice the sad lack of fineries he’d assumed his sister would be accustomed to, especially married to someone like Francis Mannering, who so often was dressed in the expensive clothes of an aspiring dandy. Not that his brother-in-law’s manners had ever been polished, though he must have had some measure of address to persuade both Clara and their parents that he was not simply a loose fish. Perhaps the promise of inheritance of Mannering had blinded them to his less savory qualities. Or perhaps he’d genuinely once loved Daniel’s sister and had grown out of it. Regardless, Clara—and little Rebecca—might appreciate a small gift in addition to the doll he’d purchased in London, especially seeing as Daniel had neither opportunity nor finances to bestow such things until now.
So he entered the small shop, a kind of haberdashery, with a sign advertising woolen draper, linen draper, hosiery, and gloves, “the shop first in size and fashion.” He stifled a smile. It seemed this was theonlyshop in this village selling such wares.
“May I help you, sir?” a colorless woman of uncertain years asked.
Oh. He realized how out of place he must appear, the only man in such a store. “I am just looking,” he hedged, moving swiftly behind an assortment of ribbons hanging from a display.
The hushed murmur at his entrance swiftly rose in volume again, prompting an infernal desire to flee. Brave man that he was, able to face cannon fire yet afraid of a few village women’s tongues.
“… heard that he’ll be here any day!”
“Yes. Dear Lady Bellingham was telling me just yesterday that she plans to welcome him with all kinds of gaieties.”
“She is inclined to make rather a fuss, isn’t she, Mrs. Cleever?” said a woman of nasal inflection.
Cleever. His ears latched onto the name. The solicitor his sister used was named Cleever. How many people in this town would possess that name?
“I think it only right that such a hero be feted in this way,” countered the woman who might be the solicitor’s wife. “It’s not every day a man is given a medal from a king.”
His breath hitched.
“I quite agree with you,” said the first, apparently fickle-minded, woman. “One can only wish to see a man honored in such a way. Why, I overheard Lady Bellingham the other day talking about a Venetian breakfast. Now, have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Why yes, he had. One of the more outlandish entertainments provided for his amusement back in London. He had no desire to repeat the experience. Pretending he was more of a gentleman than he was, well-versed in the art of conversation when every young woman he’d talked to had uttered nothing of sense or interest. How was he supposed to know the first thing about a lady’s reticule? He was not even completely sure he knew what one was, having never held an interest in women’s fashions of the day.
“And a ball! It’s been so long since we had a ball.”
“Elvira Bellingham is the only one with a room large enough for such a thing—”
Good heavens. What would they say next?
